


Ghosts

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Death, Did I Mention Angst?, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Major Characters Were Harmed, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use, Scars, Smut, Supernatural Elements, This is not a Supernatural crossover, Threats of Violence, in the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: Jack doesn't even know if he can do this anymore. Lay ghosts to rest. It's slowly destroying him.Bitty doesn't even know if he can do this anymore. Deal with the ghosts who won't let him go. It's slowly destroying him.Perhaps working together will save them both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look - I've started another story:P  
> These things happen.  
> Thanks to mattsloved1 for looking this over.  
> Thanks to Ngozi for her beautiful characters and wonderful comic.

The house stood at the end of a twisting laneway. Old, gnarled witch trees, lined the overgrown drive, partially obscuring the building, hiding it from view but not from Jack. Long, broken branches reached down to scrape at the roof of the truck as it passed underneath.

 

Jack started sweating and clenched his fists, making his joints ache, even before they’d turned into the laneway. Thankfully, Shitty drove so he could concentrate on not throwing up from the waves of nausea that started to roll through his gut.

 

Normal.

 

Completely fucking normal.

 

Shitty pulled up close to the moldering porch. Putting the pickup in park, but not shutting off the engine, he tried but couldn’t quite catch Jack’s eye. Jack avoided looking directly at Shitty and the house in equal measure.

 

“Brah…” Shitty began.

 

“No. We’ve talked about it. It’s safer.”

 

Shitty nodded, wiped his mouth, nodded again and sat back.

 

“I’ll be here. When you’re finished.”

 

“Good. I should be able to get out by myself, but just in case…”

 

“Yeah, I’ll keep an ear open.” Shitty crossed his arms and frowned at the steering wheel. He wouldn’t bring it up again. But he worried. He always worried.

 

A cold wind snatched at the open edges of Jack’s jacket as he stepped out of the car. The shade by the house felt at least ten degrees cooler than it had when they’d left the motel earlier.

 

Once Jack got out of the truck, he didn't give much thought to his best friend waiting for him. He focused his attention entirely on the house.

 

He had to.

 

It didn't matter that the porch sagged or the paint peeled, that the shutters hung lopsidedly or the roof sunk on the western side. It wouldn’t have made a difference to Jack if the house sported a new roof and a fresh coat of paint.

 

What mattered was what lay inside.

 

Jack closed his eyes.

 

Letting intrusive thoughts hush, he suppressed his feelings of inadequacy for the task at hand. He blocked the sound of leaves skittering on the ground and the unnerving lack of birds, even crows. He opened up other senses and let the interior of the house fill him.

 

A careful search of the house, starting in the old attic full of cobwebs and dread, past room after room of dampened, moldering wallpaper and battered furniture, led him to the basement. He’d known even before he’d closed his eyes that the malignant hate came from the basement but it was necessary to check the rest of the building before entering.

 

Some places contained more than one emanation. Better to be safe.

 

A few twitchings along his spine spoke of past hurts in the two smaller bedrooms, but most of the revulsion and screaming fear came from below.

 

He opened his eyes and breathed deeply, centering himself back in the physical world, nodded once, walked to the porch and stepped cautiously on the first tread.

 

The planks creaked in warning, but he ignored it. He always had an eye out for rotted spots in the flooring in old buildings.

 

The front door rose before him, and he stretched out his hand. It tingled a bit, and he braced himself. Laying his hand on the doorknob, he gritted his teeth and twisted. Hate and loathing churned his stomach, and he almost took his hand off of the knob, but he ignored it and moved forward.

 

In spite of the warped and moldy joists, the door opened. Decay of a neglected house filled Jack’s nostrils. He moved cautiously into the entryway. A typical layout greeted him with a small front foyer, leading directly to a set of stairs on the left and a hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Two small rooms branched off to either side. He glanced inside of them, but there was nothing coming out of them except faint memories.

 

He placed a cautious foot forward. The floorboards moaned a little but appeared secure and he walked down the hall to the kitchen. The malevolence of the house seeped up from below and he wasted no more time searching the lower half of the house. He knew with a mixture of dread and anticipation that he must venture into the basement, for it contained the cancerous heart of the house, guarding it closefisted.

 

The door to the basement hid from Jack. He checked through the kitchen looking for a trapdoor in the floor or a door in the pantry. Brownish stains painted the walls and cupboards, his stomach roiled, but he paid little thought on speculating what they might be.

Backtracking down the hall, he almost missed it. The door was flush in the wall of the stairwell, hidden, not to conceal it for aesthetic reasons, but for something else.

 

He placed a hand on the spot where the faint outline could just be seen. Touching the damp wood and rotting varnish, the echo of a scream burned him. He jerked his hand back and stared at the door.

 

Frowning, he scanned the surface of the door. About halfway, a latch lay inside a tiny dent. He gently fingered the latch and pulled. Thick with rust, the finger loop came out, and he leaned to the right pulling and sliding it back into the wall. It groaned with protest but opened, sticking part way. Jack eyed the entry. It would be a tight fit for someone his size, but he’d be able to get by it.

 

With a grunt, he worked his way through the doorway and stood at the top of the stairs leading into the basement, letting the light from the opening help adjust his eyes to the gloom.

 

Something lay down there, not wanting to be disturbed, wanting to brood in its dark hole.

 

Jack warily went down the stairs, reaching out cautiously for the next step until he came to the bottom. Hard packed dirt spread out before him. Weak sunshine from a mud painted window let in enough light to see it wasn’t a large basement. The light managed to emphasize the inky black corner furthest from the stairs. To other people, it would merely appear to be dark, and not pleasant, perhaps the kind to evoke long-dormant memories of monsters under the bed or something primeval hidden in the recesses of the brain.

 

To Jack moving, breathing tendrils reached out to him, to beckon him, to wish to wrap around him and draw him close, bury him in the horror it hid.

 

With a deep breath he opened his mind to the darkness, peeled back layer after layer, to the original action to first stain the house.

 

He shuddered, probing cautiously. The darkness lashed out almost as soon as he touched it, threw pain and anger at Jack. He closed his eyes, disregarding the things it wanted to show him and concentrated on what he needed to see. Under the multitude of things that had scarred this house, under the pain, he stripped back the fear of young teens that’d dared to spend the night, families who’d attempted to live in this house, until he came to the original cause. The first mark, the foundation of the evil trapped in this place.

 

The dark lashed out again. Jack raised his hand his eyes squeezed shut. Concentrating, he reached in, further into the black center. He found it.

 

The remains of a horrific image of a man dragging his young children down the stairs into this corner, and killing them, slowly, painfully in madness and rage. The children were still there, souls trapped by the hurt and damage done to them, too scared to move on. Huddled under the dark.

 

Jack twisted his hand gently and drew the two small souls toward him. As they came closer, the dull sparks that had been here for so long seemed to glow a bit brighter. He coaxed them out carefully, offering peace, trying not to cause further fear. The children almost reached him when the thing in the corner reared up. It tried to do to Jack what it had done to so many others who’d tried to stay here. It entered inside him, taunting and pulling up all of Jack’s carefully hidden anxieties and pain.

 

He stood his ground, arm outstretched, shaking as he wrestled with the blackness. Jack dug in and with his mind tore through the tendrils, which were reaching out trying to reclaim the small ghosts, trying to trap him.

 

Finally, the first child reached him, its small soul now cleared of all traces of dark, gleamed brightly. It reached out to Jack, and he felt joy as it stepped into him and disappeared. A voiceless _thank you_ brushed his mind. The second child passed through Jack finally to find rest.

 

The dark, angered now by Jack’s interference tried again to lash at him, but he shut his mind to it and continued to tear it apart as if he were a bright beam of light to glow upon it and brighten the corner. The patches dissolved, the tendrils erased, until a shriveled soul of what had once been a man revealed at the center. Weakened and frightened, anger and rage drove it forward. It tried to fight the pull Jack exerted, but eventually, it too was drawn inside of him. Instead of the joy and love that had passed with the children this one left an aftertaste of loathing, its vile hatred had consumed it and left little of the human behind. It passed through to a different place.

 

As it left, Jack lowered his hand and slumped to his knees, panting as if he’d run for miles. He closed his eyes, pulling himself back together until finally, he had enough strength to lift a shaking hand and wipe his brow. He peered dully at the mark on the inside of his wrist. Another scar, another reminder etched on his skin.

 

~

 

Shitty, sat drumming on the steering wheel. Only fifteen minutes since Jack had entered, when he emerged again and walked slowly down the steps to the truck.

He reached the pickup and climbed inside, slumped in the seat, head back, eyes closed, too tired to speak.

 

Shitty opened his mouth, shook his head a little and instead said, “Let’s get you some breakfast. I know a place.” Jack would talk about it when ready. Maybe.

 

He started the car and drove back the way they’d come.

 

Neither one looked back at the house quietly, peacefully, decaying behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long. I had some logistics of the darn thing to work out:P  
> Thank you to mattsloved1 for reading through:)

The little bell over the door rang, and the bright notes were a cheerful counterpoint to the work of the morning. Jack’s stomach rumbled in response. Shitty held the door open for him, and he slouched through. A Please Seat yourself sign greeted them and Shitty gestured to an empty booth halfway down.

 

Jack looked dubious. “You sure this is safe?”

 

“Chyeah! Bro, would I take you someplace that wasn’t first-rate? Especially for breakfast? Especially after, well, what you did?”

 

The corner of Jack’s mouth quivered a bit as if fighting a smile and he shook his head. Shitty led the way to the booth and sat down. Jack sort of collapsed into his side and Shitty tossed him a breakfast menu that had been clipped into the stand next to the napkin holder.

 

“Good morning!” said an overly cheerful but not unpleasant voice. “Can I get y’all some coffee?” A young man stood at their table, a sunny smile on his face. He held a coffee pot in one hand and two mugs by the handles in the other. He wore an apron, and there was a pencil jammed behind his left ear, the nametag on his navy shirt read Eric in cursive. Very dark circles rested under his eyes, giving them a bruised look as if he didn't sleep much or he had terrible allergies. Or both. Jack frowned at him slightly, and the smile faltered a fraction.

 

“Please,” Jack grunted. “Black.”

 

Shitty smiled. “I will also partake of the liquid in your pot, good sir, as it smells fucking marvelous and we’ll both have large glasses of orange juice.”

 

Eric chuckled a bit and poured them each a mug of coffee. “I should warn you that the owner doesn't take too kindly to swearing.” He nodded to a sign near the cash register that read “No Swearing! The Names of Jesus and God are Precious.”

 

“Then I regret I will not be able to tell you my name.”

 

“Oh?” Eric said, eyebrows raised.

 

“You may call me ‘B.’”

 

“Okay, B.” Eric looked bemused but took it in stride. “Would you like a few minutes or do you know what you’d like?”

 

“Jack?”

 

“I’ll have two eggs over-easy, with the sausage hash brown casserole.”

 

“White or whole wheat toast?”

 

“Whole Wheat.”

 

Shitty said, “I’ll have the pancake stack and a side of ham.”

 

“I’ll be right back with your juice.”

 

Jack cleared his throat. “You ever going to stop mother-henning me?”

 

“Brah, you need juice. Your sugar is low, and you're ornery.”

 

“Ornery?”

 

“When in Rome, m’dude.”

 

Two large glasses of orange juice were placed in from of them and a plate of biscuits.

 

Shitty looked at Eric.

 

“You look like you both could use them, and it’ll be a bit before your order’s up.”

 

Jack watched the young waiter walk away, a frown still battling for space on his face.

 

Shitty nudged the plate toward him. “Eat. You can hit on the waiter later.”

 

“Shits,” he said warningly.

 

“No swearing, Jacques. Eat up.”

 

Jack morosely took one of the biscuits. Steam rose as he broke it apart. He bit into it and made a slightly obscene noise.

 

“That good?”

 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit.

 

“You’re going to get us kicked out, douchebag.” Munching Shitty asked, “You ready to talk about it yet?”

 

Jack shook his head. “Not here. Besides Lardo will want to hear and I don't want to tell it twice, it, um, it wasn’t pleasant.

 

Shitty, his eyes full of concern and compassion, said, “it never is, brah.”

 

Jack looked at the biscuit in his hand and sighed. “There were kids, Shits.”

 

Shitty’s hand came down on Jack’s and gave it a quick squeeze. He pulled back when the waiter showed up at their table, his arms loaded with plates.

 

“Here you go!” He placed their plates in front of them. “Can I get y’all anything else?”

 

“Bro, those biscuits. Sweet mother of god. Can we get an order to go?”

 

Eric blushed. “Of course. I’ll take the compliment.”

 

“You made those! Duuuuude!”

 

“They were very good,” said Jack.

 

“Good! The noises coming from your mouth!”

 

Eric, still blushing reached for the empty biscuit plate. As he did, his hand accidentally brushed against Jack’s.

 

Jack jumped and stared. Eric dropped the plate.

 

“I am so sorry!” Eric said his face distressed as he picked up the plate again.

 

“S’all right,” Jack muttered.

 

Eric left, and Shitty stared at his quickly retreating back. He was rubbing his hand where it had touched Jack’s.

 

“Jack?”

 

“Later,” Jack said still frowning even while he began to eat.

 

~

 

Eric took the empty plate into the kitchen and continued to rub the side of his hand where he’d brushed up against the dark-haired man. It tingled and felt almost cold. He did not need more weirdness in his life, and he did not need to piss off any customers, especially ones as big and grumpy looking as that guy.

 

He put the dish in the dishwasher and then hurried out to check the coffee. He picked up a new pot, changed the filter, and threw fresh grounds into the basket. Bustling over to the other side of the restaurant filling cups, chatting with familiar faces, avoiding returning to B and Mr. Grumpy’s table as long as he could. The man with the mustache was all right, but there was definitely something off-putting about his friend.

 

In spite of how handsome he was.

 

“Shush,” Eric said to his brain.

 

“Hey, Eric!” Jeff called him over. “Can you work a shift tonight? Margie called. Said the kids are sick and she’s got no babysitter.”

 

Internally, he sighed. He had been hoping to make up on missed sleep. Out loud, he said, “Sure! You need me to close?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“‘K.” At least he could go home and grab a nap before returning for the evening, but he’d been hoping on getting some work done on his college applications.

 

Bustling back into the kitchen, he picked up the next order, pasted his sunny smile back on his face and went back out to deliver them.

 

He finally decided he needed to check on ‘B’ and Mr. Grumpy. Jack was it?

 

They had finished. Eric poured each another cup and said, “I’ll wrap up that order of biscuits for Y'all. Anything else?”

 

“Can we get a take-out coffee and, I don't know some muffins or something? For a friend,” said B winking.

 

“How about a nice slice of blueberry coffee cake? Made it myself and I can guarantee it is delicious.”

 

“Make it three slices.”

 

Eric grinned, and for the first time in a while, it felt real. “All right. Be right back.”

 

He boxed up half a dozen biscuits, three generous slices of coffee cake and poured a large takeout cup of coffee. He added it to the check and brought it all to the two men.

 

B pulled out his wallet and left a wad of cash with what looked like a generous tip. Eric smiled at them and wished them a good day.

 

And tried not to be too creeped out when Mr. Grumpy touched his hand and looked at him. Something swam in the depth of those icy blue eyes. Sympathy, concern, but maybe fear, too. It wouldn't be the first time someone looked at Eric with fear. He shuddered with the cold again and other unfathomable feelings. Mr. Grumpy looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned and left.

 

Eric looked at his hand and swore it looked bluer. He shrugged, bit his lip and picked up the empty plates.

 

~

 

Back at the motel, Shitty unlocked the door to their room and called out a soft, “I come with breakfast.”

 

The blankets on the far bed shifted and a muffled, “There’s better be coffee,” came out from underneath them.

 

“Brah! My feelings! Would I ever neglect coffee?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“One time! One time I came back without it.”

 

“More like twice.”

 

Shitty put the containers on top of the dresser and went to open the curtains.

 

“Not until after caffeine.”

 

Shitty dropped his hand and said, “I swear sometimes you’re part vampire.”

 

The blankets were thrown back, and a petite, dark-haired woman emerged. She adjusted the tank top and sleep shorts she wore as she padded to the bathroom and slammed the door.

 

Jack, meanwhile, flopped down on the other bed and put his arm over his face. Shitty looked at him concern on his face.

 

The door to the bathroom opened and the woman emerged.

 

Shitty handed her the coffee. “Here you go, Lards.”

 

She nodded and drank a huge gulp of coffee, saluted him and said, “Thanks.”

 

“Wait until you try these biscuits. And there’s coffee cake, too.”

 

She nodded again, scooped up the container with the biscuits, opened it and grabbed one. She bit into it and blinked. “That is a goddamn good biscuit.”

 

“Right? This dude over at the diner made them. He was tré cute as well, wasn’t he Jack?”

Jack groaned, “Fuck off.”

 

Shitty grinned.

 

“How’d it go?” asked Lardo.

 

Jack removed his arm and blinked up at the ceiling. “Rough. Kids,” he said.

 

Lardo nodded. She sat down on the bed beside him but didn't touch him. Jack sat up a bit and shifted, so he now leaned against the headboard. He patted the space beside him, and Lardo crawled up and put her arms around him. His face got a half resigned, half stony expression and then he let himself go. Crying, hard and ugly, his hands covered his face. Shitty grabbed the box of tissue from the bathroom and tossed it on the bed.

 

After a good twenty minutes, the crying stopped. Jack blinked blearily at Lardo and smiled. “Thanks.”

 

She nodded and got up to retrieve a wet face cloth form the bathroom.

 

Shitty handed him a bottle of water and a piece of coffee cake.

 

Then he told them about the house and the children and the cleansing of everything. Once he was finished, he slumped a bit and finished the cake and the water.

 

“Okay?” asked Shitty, out of habit.

 

Jack nodded.

 

“So where shall we go next?”

 

Jack said, “Back to the diner. I need to talk to the waiter.”

 

~

 

The last customer left, and Eric locked the front door. He finished running the dishes back to the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher and set it to run. After mopping the last section of floor and checking the restrooms, he took the trash out to the dumpster.

 

As he rounded the corner at the back of the diner, he stopped his hand on his chest, heart beating like a wild thing.

 

A figure stood there, hooded and menacing. Eric shook his head, hoping it would go away and not start something here. Not now. Not after having settled in.

 

The figure didn't disappear, but it did remove its hood and step into the circle of light from the overhead bulb at the corner of the building.

 

Eric breathed deeply, but not with relief. The guy from the morning, the grumpy one, stood in the light from the overhead bulb. People could be every bit as harmful, more so, than other things. He ought to know.

 

“Sorry,” said Mr. Grumpy. “I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk.”

 

Eric opened his mouth to say something, but his heart still thudded hard, and he didn't know if he could actually get words out.

 

“I, um, I wanted to ask you something.”

 

Eric nodded, still trying to calm down.

 

Mr. Grumpy frowned and looked at the ground, then rubbed at his mouth. “Okay. Um, this might sound strange, but how long have you been haunted?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mattsloved1 for looking this over:)
> 
> Heed the added tags please!

Eric gasped. He clutched one hand over his mouth and the other over his stomach, shock pumping adrenalin throughout his body. It was too much like the visits in the night.

 

A second figure appeared beside Mr. Grumpy, a young woman. She reached up and smacked Mr. Grumpy on the chest. No mean feat, as she was so much shorter.

 

“Jesus Jack, way to scare the crap out of the guy.” She turned toward Eric. “Sorry about that. He thinks he so chill and he’s really majorly dramatic. I’m Larissa Duan, but you can call me Lardo.” She sort of half waved.

 

Eric flicked his hand in her direction, more out of habit, as he was in a bit of a daze.

 

The other guy, B, from the morning also came out from behind Jack. “Hi! Sorry for Jack’s poor manners. How the fuck are you? Still in one piece? Heart okay?”

 

Eric nodded mutely.

 

“Okay, good. You remember me from this morning? I told you to call me B. Now that I am not partaking of the glorious food you laid down in front of us and sullying the atmosphere of the diner with my foul language you can call me Shitty.”

 

“Excuse me?” Eric squeaked out.

 

“Shitty because it pisses off my dad not to use the name he gave me.”

 

“O…kay.”

 

“And this here magnificent mother-fucker who scared you shitless is Jack. Jack Zimmermann. Okay, Jack, maybe let’s find someplace to talk where you aren't jumping out at people like you’re a walking poster from a slasher movie.”

 

Jack glowered at Shitty and then looked at Eric. “Sorry.”

 

“I don't know that we have anything to talk about. I don't exactly know y'all.”

 

“He’s got a point,” said Lardo.

 

Jack sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you. I didn't think. And I should have. If what I think is happening to you is happening then this was a terrible way for me to speak to you about it.”

 

Eric frowned and shook his head. “I am gonna go back in the diner. I am going to lock up and then wait fifteen minutes. If you’re still here after that, I’m gonna to call the police.” Eric turned and as fast as he could, headed back into the diner and locked the back door behind him. He ran to the front and locked that door as well glad his hands were steady enough. He sat in a booth near the back, drew up his feet and hunched over his legs, rocking a bit.

 

How they knew or how they guessed he didn't know nor did he want to. He just wanted it to stop.

 

He was so afraid it wasn’t going to.

 

~

 

Jack rubbed his face some more. “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah, that ‘bout sums it up,” said Shitty.

 

“Now what?” asked Lardo.

 

Jack shrugged. “Now we hide and follow him home.”

 

“Fuck, Jack. He seemed serious about the police. How the hell are you going to explain this to your father if they wake him up in the middle of the goddamn night and tell him his son’s in jail for stalking someone?”

 

“He’d probably bail us out.”

 

“Probably?”

 

“Well, after New York, he was pretty pissed, but we’ve talked since, so,” he shrugged again. “You know.”

 

Shitty smacked his hand to his face. “No Jack, I don't fucking know. Your family is way too chill about this whole thing.”

 

“I guess when your son dies for three minutes and comes back like me, you learn to take it in stride. Come on, we’d better leave.

 

Jack knew without looking Lardo stroked Shitty’s arm as Shitty muttered, “Take things in stride. Goddamn it. How the hell did I end up in this fucking ridiculous situation?”

 

He smiled grimly. He wondered that himself.

 

~

 

To be on the safe side, Eric waited half an hour before he snuck out the front, relocked the door and ran all the way to the motel he’d been living in since arriving in town. He didn't use his earbuds or put his hood up so he could hear anything coming up behind him. He kept glancing over his shoulder, but in spite of the shadows gathered under the trees and over the sidewalks, there didn't seem to be anyone there.

 

The sign that marked the motel could be seen flickering just between the trees, and he knew he’d arrive shortly. He stopped and looked once more, checking one last time. There didn't seem to be anyone, but he waited a few minutes to be sure, searching the gloom. A small wind blew the previous fall’s leaves, some candy wrappers and other bits of debris, making skittering sounds. His heart began to beat a bit faster, and he sprinted the last few yards to his room. His hands really were shaking now, and it took several tries to open the door, once again glad he’d had the foresight to take a room on the end and to check to make sure no one was staying in the room beside him.

 

Tonight would be bad.

 

~

 

“Well, what do you know, the little em ef’s staying at the same motel. I figured he was a local.”

 

Jack shook his head. “No. He’s been running for a while.”

 

“How the fuck do you know that?”

 

Jack looked at Shitty thoughtfully, his eyes searching his face, before shaking his head.

 

Shitty stared back and nodded.

 

They stayed in the trees near the parking lot in sight of Eric’s room.

 

~

 

Eric took off his hoodie and threw it on the back of the chair. He turned on all the lights in the room. Not that they gave much illumination, but it felt better. Felt safer.

 

He changed quickly into his PJs, brushed his teeth, took his small, well-loved, stuffed rabbit out of his backpack and crawled into bed, stacking the extra pillows he’d brought from home along with the ones he’s borrowed from the motel around him.

 

The lights stayed on, but he did pull a sheet over top of himself and all of the pillows.

 

He didn’t have long to wait.

 

~

 

A short time after they saw the lights in Eric’s room turn on the air nearby seemed to change, become electrically charged.

 

Jack hunched down into his hoodie.

 

“It won't be long now. When it starts, I need you to wait here.”

 

“Jack…” began Shitty.

 

Jack didn't say anything.

 

“All right. We’ll be here when it’s done.”

 

Jack jerked his head once and walked towards the motel.

 

~

 

Eric lay under the sheet clutching Señor Bun to his chest his eyes squeezed shut.

 

It always started with a vibration felt in his bones. The air became electrically charged.

 

He swallowed, fear making the sweat trickle down his back and the hairs on his arms stand up.

 

A soft noise came from the direction of the bathroom a shift of something on the floor, the faint sound of a footfall.

 

Eric began to tremble, and he rocked back and forth. “No, no, please, no.” That he pleaded would make no difference, but he did it anyway, the compulsion of praying pulled out of him from fear, from a child’s longing for comfort.

 

His eyes still shut tight, he missed when the light in the bathroom flickered, and something stirred the faded curtains at the window.

 

A whisper, just below hearing, felt on the skin, even under the covers, “Eric.”

 

“No, no.”

 

“Eric.”

 

“No, please.”

 

Now all of the lights in the room flickered and went out. Eric covered his ears.

 

The window and the door began to rattle.

 

“No, go away, go away. I didn't do it. I didn't do it.” He chanted the familiar and utterly useless litany.

 

“Eric.”

 

“No!”

 

The dresser started to rattle, and the glass of water on the bedside table trembled. There was a violent thud against the door, and someone pounded on it, thudded against it. “Eric!” called a different, deeper voice. “Let me in!”

 

But Eric couldn't hear it locked up inside his head, the noise of his thoughts and his fear drowning out everything else.

 

The door slammed open and banged against the wall as the hinges gave way under the onslaught from outside. The covers were abruptly pulled back, and he screamed. A hand gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away from his ears.

 

“No, no, no!”

 

“Eric, look at me! It’s Jack! From the diner. Come on.”

 

But Eric was beyond listening. Jack started to lift him to sling him over his shoulder and carry him out of there, but the temperature in the room dropped rapidly. Something stood behind his back. He released Eric’s arm and spun quickly. A hand reached up and shoved at him hard. He flew through the air and thudded against the wall. Dazed and the breath knocked out of him, he sat for a minute shaking his head.

 

The noise seemed to rouse Eric out of his stupor. He sat up and looked, eyes so wide they appeared unreal.

 

Jack stood, too fast, his head spun. But he stretched out his hand and strode forward to place himself in front of Eric and the emanation rising near the end of the bed. He concentrated, sweat dripped off of his forehead in spite of the frigid air.

 

Nothing happened.

 

He frowned. That wasn’t right. He should at least feel something, emotions, stirrings, something. But there was nothing. It felt as if he looked into a mirror instead of standing in front of a spirit.

 

The figure standing there seemed to grow more solid, seemed to take on more definition the longer he was there. An eldritch light began to glow, outlining the figure. He thought he heard laughter in the back of his head.

 

It wasn’t pleasant.

 

The door, which had careened shut after Jack had stumbled into the room, flung open again and Shitty and Lardo came in at a run.

 

They stopped, mouths open, as Jack fought with the emanation.

 

Lardo put her hands over her mouth, frozen for a moment before she hurried over to the bed where Eric sat, eyes huge, face deathly pale. He seemed unresponsive. She shook him hard, and Shitty joined her. Between the two of them, they managed to get him to look in their direction.

 

“Eric! Eric, come on. You need to get out of here!’

 

“What?” he muttered, the word slurred and unclear.

 

“Come on.” Shitty shook him again and then dragged him from the bed.

 

Jack swayed on his feet, and even though he didn't seem to be gaining anything over the figure facing him, it stopped growing more solid.

 

Eric, finally on his feet, Shitty and Lardo at his back, looked right at the spirit in the room. For the first time, he let anger overrule his fear. Maybe because there were others with him. Perhaps from a sense of responsibility. Hands clenched, back straight, he inhaled and yelled, “No!” as loud as he could.

 

The figure turned and looked straight at him. Something passed between them, and Eric’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell to the floor.

 

The figure vanished, the temperature returned to normal, and all of the lights came back on. Jack turned around quickly to look at Eric lying on the floor. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and he said, “That’s not a ghost,” before he collapsed and joined Eric in unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to mattsloved1 for looking this over:)  
> Some new tags added

Jack sat on top of the dilapidated picnic table behind the motel. The table rested unevenly on a small patch of grass near an old climber, faded by rain and sun and uninviting. If he had the energy, he’d have straightened the table. It didn't line up with the edge of the grass, and that bothered him.

 

A fresh wind blew away some of the cobwebs from the night before and the cup of coffee currently warming his hands, from which he carefully sipped, cleared a few more.

 

He glanced down, frowning. The pale silver scars etched permanently on his hands and up his exposed arms gleamed faintly in the morning light. He shifted the cup to one hand and then the other as he adjusted the sleeves of his sweatshirt to cover them.

 

The sound of the motel door rang sharply, and he turned his head to look behind him, expecting Shitty, but not surprised to see Lardo walk across the patch of tired grass, her cup of coffee bigger than his. Shitty had made an early morning run to the diner to pick up take-out.

 

Jack turned back to scrutinize his coffee and only looked up again when he felt the table shift, and Lardo climb up next to him. Neither said anything.

 

The air began to warm a bit, and he thought about removing his sweatshirt, but his scars were causing him to feel self-conscious today. He cleared his throat. “Well?”

 

“He’s still asleep.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. The warmth of her and the weight helped to steady him, and he took a deep breath.

 

“I should go talk to him.”

 

“Not yet,” she said. She rummaged in the pocket of her hoodie. “You forgot this when you came outside. Here, it's squished. Sorry.” And she passed him a paper-wrapped parcel, grease marring the outside. He opened it. Inside was a breakfast sandwich. When the smell hit him, his stomach rumbled loud and long.

 

“You know you need to eat afterward.”

 

“Hard to eat when you’re passed out on the floor.”

 

“Yeah.” She watched him for a minute and raising her eyebrows at him touched the back of the hand closest to her. “No new scar?”

 

“Not that I’ve found.”

 

She nodded, a crease between her eyes. “So…”

 

“I have no fucking clue. Except it's not a ghost.”

 

“So you said last night.”

 

He finished the sandwich and wadded up the paper, squeezing it in his hand. “Time to ask some questions.”

 

Lardo put her hand on his arm. “Jack,” she said, the steel of command in her voice only used when he was about to do something particularly stupid. “Be kind.”

 

He could see the worry underneath her usual calm. He nodded, jumped off of the table and they walked back to their room.

 

Jack opened the door and let Lardo pass through first. When his eyes adjusted he could see Shitty sitting on one of the beds reading and in the other bed lay Eric, covers over his head, a small tuft of hair sticking out. On the bedside table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich sat beside another cup of coffee.

 

Lardo went over to the bed and gently shook the lump under the covers.

 

“Eric? Hey Eric. Can you wake up? We need to talk.”

 

There was a muffled sound and the figure rolled over. Lardo shook it again. “Come on. We got you some breakfast.”

 

The figure shifted the pillows, so they were now over his head.

 

“Eric! Wake up.”

 

“Fine.” The covers moved, and Eric sat up yawning and stretching, his hair flattened in several directions at once and there were sheet creases on his face. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked at them sleepily. Dawning realization as he came to and he blushed and covered his face.

 

“Oh, my Lord.” He looked wan, and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent. Lardo grabbed the cup of coffee and passed it to him. “You seem like the lots of milk and sugar type, so I added extra.”

 

‘Thanks,” he said. He took a gulp and shuddered a bit. Lardo raised an eyebrow. “No, that’s great, thanks.” He set down the cup and looked everywhere but at them.

 

Jack, meanwhile, had closed the door and crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets.

 

Eric swallowed visibly and looked even paler.

 

“I…I’m sorry.”

 

Jack frowned causing Eric to sit up straighter, and his lips began to tremble.

 

‘Be kind’ echoed in his head. Jack held out a placating hand. “It’s okay. Look. You have nothing to be sorry for. I, uh, I just want to figure out what happened. Last night.”

 

Eric pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, covering his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling the sleep-matted hair further. He shrugged and bit his lip. “I don't know.”

 

“Me either and I don't like it.”

 

Eric took a deep breath. “Look, can you sit or something because you’re making me nervous all tall and glowering at me like I peed in your pool.”

 

Jack felt a faint smile tug at his lips. “No peeing in the pool.”

 

Shitty barked a laugh, but before he could run off at the mouth, Lardo gave him a look. He mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

Jack sat down on the other bed, feet on the floor and leaned on his knees, hands clasped together.

 

“I want to know what happened last night. All right?”

 

Lardo smiled at Jack.

 

“O-okay,” Eric said.

 

“If you don't know or you’d rather not say, that’s fine but the more we know, the better we can help.”

 

Eric nodded and then took a deep breath. “Can I ask y’all something first?”

 

Jack nodded.

 

“Um, I beg you're pardon but who the hell are y’all and why are you doing,” he waved his hand around the room, “doing this?”

 

Jack looked at Shitty and Shitty said, “This might sound strange…”

 

“Stranger than what happened last night?”

 

“No, but even though we are all aware something extraordinary happened, it is sometimes more than the human brain can fucking believe. Your brain right now is saying ‘Duuuude!” and you may be trying to come up with a logical explanation. People refuse to see what’s in front of them and even understanding it is too complicated and I’ve been with this fucker for almost three years now. There was this one time…”

 

“Shits,” said Lardo.

 

“Yeah, okay, okay, so the short answer is Jack senses the spiritual remains of the dead and basically helps them cross to the other side so they can stop being fucking dickwads to the living and messing up their lives.”

 

Jack sighed and rubbed his face. “Sort of.”

 

“Okay,” Eric said. But he didn't look convinced.

 

Trying to make his voice calm and gentle, Jack said, “What do you remember from last night?”

 

Eric picked up his coffee and took another drink. “I, uh, I came back to my room and got ready for bed, and you burst in and scared the crap outta me, and then I passed out. And I don't know what else.”

 

“Okay. But that’s not all that happened, is it?”

 

Eric crumpled a bit and picked at the coffee cup. “No.” He slumped. “But if I say what happened then…then I don't know what.”

 

Lardo sat beside him and put her arm around him. “Eric. It’s okay. We really and truly are here to help. I promise that we will believe everything you say about all of this. But first, why don't you eat?”

 

Eric nodded and grabbed the sandwich. As he ate some colour returned to his face. He took another bite and said, “Thank you.”

 

“Hey, no problem.”

 

After he finished, Eric sat up a bit straighter and stared into space. He shuddered again and spoke, softly at first, so Jack had to strain to hear him.

 

“It’s been happening since I was, oh I don't know, thirteen? Fourteen? It, um, started as little things, like things would move out of the corner of my eye and I find that whatever it was wasn’t where I’d thought I’d left it. Or I’d be alone in the house and I’d hear a door slam, that sort of thing. Um, this one time, I was in the shower, and I came out to a message on the mirror. I thought that sort of thing only happened in stupid horror movies.” He put his hands over his face, shook himself and continued. “It started getting worse, and it started getting so other people noticed when I was about fifteen I guess, pots on the wall would swing, a mug flew across the room and hit the door frame where my father was standing.” He said the word ‘father’ with a deep bitterness Jack recognized. “And about that same time, that's when I started getting visits from that thing once or twice a month and then once or twice a week. It’s most nights now unless I’m exhausted, and then I sometimes sleep through it. I thought I imagined it all until my parents saw it too. An, uh, some other people. Sometimes I’d wake up with scratches on my arms like I’d been defending myself, you know?”

 

Jack chewed his lip and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “How long have you been on your own?”

 

Eric blushed again. “About three years now, after I turned sixteen.”

 

“So what happened when you were sixteen?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jack leveled a look at Eric. “You ran away. How come?”

 

“I didn’t so much as run away as I was kicked out.”

 

“Jack,” said Lardo. He looked at her, and she frowned back at him, shaking her head slightly.

 

“Look you don't have to tell us anything you don't want to,” he said again,” but it will help.”

 

“I don't want to talk about that right now, okay?”

 

Jack shrugged. “Fine but…”

 

“Jack!”

 

“You don't have to talk about it.”

 

Relief and something more Jack couldn't quite pinpoint crossed Eric’s features as he looked back and forth between the three of them. “So you believe me? You know what’s happening to me?”

 

“Not exactly,” Jack said.

 

“Not exactly?” Eric’s face fell.

 

“I mean yes, I believe you, but no I don't know exactly what’s happening. Usually, when I deal with this sort of thing, it’s pretty cut and dry. I go into a house or building, find the spirit or emanation and get it to leave. This is different. Last night whatever that was is not a ghost or at least not like I’ve dealt with before. Something weird is definitely happening because you feel every bit as haunted as any building I have ever cleansed.” He reached across and touched the back of Eric’s hand, clinically and impersonal. He then rubbed his fingers together as if he had felt something cold. Eric rubbed the back of his hand in response.

 

“Clear as mud,” Eric said, almost smiling. “Look, I’m sure all of this ghost business is old news to you guys, but it isn't anything I’m used to.” He stopped and shook his head, “No, that’s a lie. It is something I seem to have a lot of experience with, but I guess what I mean is the chasing out of ghosts or whatever it is you do. I don't have a clue about that, and I’d appreciate if you could fill me in somewhat because frankly, I am,” he paused tears welled up in his eyes. Eric glanced at Jack, blushed and hastily wiped them away. “I am sick to death of this,” he finished.

 

They all sat in silence for a few minutes until Shitty said, “I searched some of your experiences on the old Internet, and I came up with what might be an explanation.”

 

“And?” Jack asked.

 

“Mother-fucking poltergeist. Here listen to this from Wikipedia. ‘In folklore and parapsychology, a poltergeist is a type of ghost or spirit that is responsible for physical disturbances, such as loud noises and objects being moved or destroyed. They are purportedly capable of pinching, biting, hitting, and tripping people. Most accounts of poltergeists describe the movement or levitation of objects such as furniture and cutlery, or noises such as knocking on doors. They have traditionally been described as troublesome spirits who haunt a particular person instead of a specific location.”

 

“Poltergeist? Huh. That’s new.”

 

“So does that mean you don't know how to help me?” Eric asked, his face resigned.

 

Jack shrugged again. “I’ve never dealt with a poltergeist before, but it doesn't mean I’m not going to help you. I just have to figure out how.”


End file.
